The Upstaged Coroner

by Paul Austin Ardoin

  “It looks like a lot of this stuff is his, though. Posters from his plays, stuff like that.”

  “I suppose,” Dez said.

  “You think maybe he’s lying? That he said he didn’t know what was in here, but he’s the one who ransacked the office?”

  Dez paused. “You do know you’re accusing the most powerful man at this university of murder.”

  “I’m not accusing him of anything. I’m merely suggesting a theory of the crime.” Fenway paused. “Another theory would be that Cygnus himself stole the half a million.”

  “Another theory is that there were a bunch of deposits they had on hand that didn’t go through, so it was just noting that the numbers didn’t match. Jessica did the books, after all.”

  “That theory isn’t nearly as fun.”

  “Listen, rookie, you’re not here to have fun, you’re—”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Dez, I’m kidding. I know we need more evidence before we can come up with a reasonable scenario.” Fenway put the note in an evidence bag from her purse.

  “All right—well, find the murder weapon, or Jessica’s laptop in the professor’s possession, and then talk to me.”

  Fenway nodded.

  Watching their feet, Fenway and Dez took a few steps into the main office, and they peered under one of the fallen desk chairs. A tower-style pc, in a matte-silver plastic case, poked up between a couple of sheaves of strewn paper.

  “That’s a pc right there,” Fenway murmured.

  “Only one in the front office,” Dez said.

  Fenway knelt down but it didn’t provide a better view, and then she turned to Dez. “csi didn’t take that computer?”

  Dez shook her head. “They didn’t take anything. Wanted the inventory of what might be missing first.” She looked around the office. “So, yeah. It’s a real mess.”

  Fenway nodded. “If the laptop’s missing, it makes me think there was something on it that the killer wanted, and if we can find out what this mystery twenty-seven-million-dollar account is, we might be able to get to—”

  Wait a second. Only one pc? Fenway tried to remember what Amanda had said.

  Dez folded her arms. “Might be able to get to what?”

  “Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Fenway said, closing her eyes.

  I kind of feel bad for working so many hours when there’s not that much work to do. There aren’t enough computers for all of the student workers, so I usually do my homework.

  Fenway opened her eyes again. “Amanda said there weren’t enough computers for all the student workers.”

  Dez nodded.

  “Isn’t that a strange thing to say if there’s only one computer for everyone? Why not say ‘There’s only one computer for all of us to share’?”

  “Maybe they’re on cheap Chromebooks that they take home.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I think one of the computers is missing.” She cautiously stepped around the room and went to the first empty desk. She shined her phone’s flashlight behind it. “There’s a power strip here. I think there was a pc on this desk.”

  “All right, so what do you want to do?”

  “I think we should take the other pc in. See if there’s any indication if there are files on the hard drives that someone might want to take.”

  “The file in question might just have been on that other machine.”

  Fenway nodded. “Probably.”

  “But yeah, we’ll take it in anyway. Maybe Piper can find some user data that will help us.”

  “Yeah, that’s a possibility, too, and I didn’t see the other award.”

  “What other award?” Dez asked.

  “The one that The Guild won for The Merchant of Venice last year. The crystal award that might be the murder weapon.”

  They carefully wound their way through the maze of papers and furniture and books. They left the main office, went down the hall and then down the stairs.

  Fenway clicked her tongue. “What now?”

  Dez thought for a moment. “That note—with the twenty-seven million dollars. I can’t think of why in the world Jessica would write that note. What in the hell could it refer to?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the university and not with The Guild.”

  “But,” Dez mused, opening the door of the stairwell to the outside, “if it was an account with the university, Jessica wouldn’t have access to it. That would be the university accountants, not this independent organization on campus.”

  They walked across the quad. “Are we going to the station?” asked Fenway.

  “I don’t think there’s anything else for us to do here until we can wrangle the professor and the other students after rehearsal. I can get moving on Jessica’s phone records.”

  Fenway’s phone rang and she dug it out of her purse.

  “Oh, no.” Fenway closed her eyes. “I forgot I was supposed to meet Charlotte at noon.”

  “What’s with you forgetting everything all of a sudden?” Dez flashed a grin at Fenway. “I’m twice your age and I’ve got a better memory than you do lately.

  Fenway answered the phone. “Hi, Charlotte, did you—”

  “Fenway, where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting in your office for fifteen minutes, and no one seems to know when you’ll be back.”

  “I’m sorry. I went to interview a couple of suspects and I’m running behind.”

  “So, you don’t know?”

  “Don’t know what?”

  “Your dad’s being released this evening. They told us it would be around six o’clock.”

  “They arraigned him?”

  “No. They said Tuesday.”

  “At least he’ll be home for the weekend. Oh, good. I’m happy for you.”

  “Did you have anything to do with getting him freed?”

  Fenway paused. “Well, I did talk to the lead detective from Washington state, but I don’t think he had anything to do with the release.”

  “Did your father tell you what he wanted you to look into?”

  “He asked me to do some research. Nothing specific.”

  “I suppose we can wait to talk about it until this weekend.”

  “Wait, wait, Charlotte, I’m trying to chase down a couple of murder suspects. I can’t make plans for the weekend.”

  There was silence on the other end. Finally, Charlotte cleared her throat, and then she spoke softly but firmly. “I can’t say I’m surprised that you’re acting like this.”

  “Acting like what?”

  “Please, Fenway, let me finish. Your dad is reaching out to you right now. No, he’s not a perfect man, but you have to understand what his words and actions mean, what he’s trying to show you. He’s always done things his way, but if you could just see past your own anger, you’d know that the things he does show his love for you. I don’t think you even want to meet him halfway. You’re making excuses instead of helping him. I know you’re angry, but you’re not prioritizing him, and he’s the only father you have. You’ll look back on the way you’re acting right now, and you’ll regret it.”

  Stunned, Fenway didn’t know how to respond.

  “Fenway, are you still there?”

  “You’re breaking up, Charlotte,” Fenway said. “We’re driving into a canyon right now—can you repeat—” and then she clicked End.

  Dez looked over at her. “Everything okay?”

  Fenway nodded. “Of course, Dez. I should have known my father would pick the judgmental type.”

  They arrived at Dez’s Impala and she drove them out of the lot. As they turned onto Nidever Expressway, Fenway’s phone rang again and she sent it straight to voicemail.

  Fenway looked out the window and ground her teeth. Her father wanted her to be his own personal private investigator. Even if she wasn’t angry at him, she was drowning in open murder cases of her own without worrying about her father being accused. She felt the sting of Charlotte’s words anyway. Fenway wasn’t p
rioritizing helping her father, but exactly what could she do?

  “Dez,” she said tentatively, “is there anything I can do for my father? I mean, other than visit him when I can, and that kind of thing. Should I be trying to figure anything out for myself?”

  Dez shook her head. “You need to stay away from that, rookie. Unless you want everyone in the county thinking you’re a hypocrite. If you want to recommend a private investigator for him, or if you want to be a character witness for him, then absolutely, do everything you can. But if you’re looking to investigate him on your own? Hell, I’ve got a reputation as a maverick, but even I think that’s crossing a line.” Dez looked over her shoulder and moved into the left lane, passing a box truck. “And besides, if you find any evidence, everyone will think it’s tainted because it was found by his daughter, not by an unbiased detective.”

  Fenway looked out the window, only half paying attention. She still had Detective Deshawn Ridley’s contact information, and besides, he was probably still at the Phillips-Holsen Grand Hotel until the arraignment. Maybe she could call him up and sweet-talk him into giving her more information.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dez and Fenway grabbed lunch at Dos Milagros and took it to the office.

  They walked in, and Sergeant Mark Trevino looked up from his phone. “You just missed your stepmother.”

  Nope, I didn’t miss her at all. Fenway bit her tongue to stop from saying it.

  Migs wasn’t in the office, but it was just past twelve thirty, so was probably at lunch.

  Dez sat at her desk, pulled the tacos out of the paper bag, and started to go through phone records for both The Guild office and for Jessica Marquez’s cell phone.

  Fenway went into her office, and Mark followed her. He briefed her on where he was with the Tassajera case. Besides the payments for Global Advantage Executive Consulting, and several falsified customer records—all of which documented large cash payments to Tassajera, multiple times a week—no information looked out of place. A search of Tassajera’s home—he was divorced and lived alone, and his ex-wife lived in San Miguelito—turned up little. The one interesting item was a cheap cell phone in the drawer of Tassajera’s bedside table. Mark strongly suspected it was a burner phone and was in the middle of researching it.

  Fenway spent the next few hours typing up her notes, downloading the pictures from her phone, and researching the social media profiles of the student actors in the play. She thought for sure there would be something connecting one of the student profiles to Jessica, but she had no luck.

  It was almost four o’clock and Migs hadn’t returned to the office. That wasn’t like him.

  Oh.

  Perhaps Migs was with Piper.

  She was sure that Piper Patten was still working, and she hoped that Piper wouldn’t do anything stupid like admit to trespassing at Central Auto Body. Migs, who was taking law classes at night, would be concerned as well.

  She walked down the hall and opened the door into the it office.

  Migs stood at Piper’s workstation, and Piper leaned on him, head bowed and shoulders shaking.

  “What is it, Piper?” Fenway asked. “Are you all right?”

  “No, she’s not all right,” Migs said softly, an edge of anger to his voice. “Piper showed up for work this morning, and an officer took her over to the courthouse where they interrogated her for three hours.”

  “What?” Fenway said. “Three hours?”

  Migs nodded. “They asked her what she stole—”

  “Please, Migs,” Piper interrupted, sniffling, “I can tell Fenway what happened myself.”

  “I just wish you had let me go over with you,” Migs said through gritted teeth.

  “You’re not my lawyer.”

  “But I know the law a lot better than most people. I would have been able to get you out of there.”

  “Neither the sheriff nor I got a call about this,” Fenway said. “You would think they’d want some sort of police corroboration before they hold you for three hours.”

  Piper waved her hand in dismissal. “Please. I brought this on myself. I shouldn’t have been there.”

  Migs scoffed. “You are a representative of the sheriff’s department, and you knew that a crime was likely to be committed. You were attempting to prevent the destruction of evidence.”

  “But I broke in.”

  “Exigent circumstance. That’s an exception to the warrant rule.”

  Piper shook her head. “I don’t even think that applies to me. I’m not a police officer.”

  “You’re still a representative of law enforcement.”

  “Well, Migs,” Piper said, “when you pass the bar, you can represent me.”

  “What do they want from you?” Fenway asked.

  Migs and Piper looked at Fenway. “What do they want from her?” Migs repeated.

  “Yes. I mean, based on all the evidence here, I’m shocked that the d.a. is even considering charges.”

  “Well, she’s not.”

  “Oh—you got ada Kim?”

  “I bet she has something to prove,” Migs said.

  “So will you when you first get onto the scene, Migs, so don’t throw stones.” Fenway folded her arms. “Does she think you know something you’re not telling her? Maybe that you’ve got the ledger and you’re hiding it?”

  Piper’s eyes went wide. “I don’t have any ledger!”

  “I know you don’t,” Fenway said. “The room was locked, a pile of boxes was over the crawlspace where the ledger should have been, and there’s no way you could have moved it off and back by yourself.” She paused. “Maybe I should call ada Kim.”

  “Maybe they’re trying to make an example out of Piper,” Migs muttered.

  Piper blanched.

  Fenway pinched the bridge of her nose. “If they wanted to set an example, it should be someone with more visibility in the department—and for something a lot worse than trespassing.” Barry Klein would be a good choice. She looked at Piper. “Did they tell you anything?”

  “They said my career with the sheriff’s department was over,” Piper said miserably.

  “What?”

  “Yeah. I could either resign, or get arrested for felony burglary.”

  “Felony?” Fenway said, aghast. “That’s ridiculous. Maybe a misdemeanor.”

  Migs shook his head. “No—we just had a session on this in class. That’s intended for shoplifting, when the place of business is open.”

  “Well, yeah, that’s what McVie said, too, but intent has to figure into this,” Fenway said. “Intent is why they made the exception for shoplifting in the first place.” She turned to walk into her office. “I’m calling ada Kim about this right now.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” said Piper. “She was so angry when she talked with me. She was treating me like a serial killer. She barely let me get a word in edgewise.”

  “But this is ridiculous. She didn’t even call me to corroborate what happened!”

  “Maybe she figured that you and the sheriff would be on my side,” Piper said softly.

  “We’re on truth’s side,” Fenway said.

  “I don’t know.” Piper hesitated. “You seem to think that we should sweep this under the rug.”

  “I do. I know there’s the letter of the law and all that, but you did the right thing. You were at least trying to do the right thing, and you’re catching hell for it.”

  “I should have let the real police handle it.” Piper’s tone went flat.

  “We’ll fight this, cariña,” Migs said.

  “I don’t know,” Piper said.

  “I’ll go call the ada right now.” Fenway patted Piper on the shoulder and then turned and walked to the coroner’s suite. She went into her office and shut the door behind her.

  Fenway dropped her purse on one of the guest chairs in front of her desk and then sat heavily in her chair. None of this would have happened if she had just kept her word and met
Piper like she promised. She felt sick.

  She had met ada Jennifer Kim a handful of times over the last six months, and it was always for misdemeanors, or nonviolent felonies, based on ancillary information she found in the course of her investigations: a couple who was squatting in an abandoned house where a young man had overdosed on heroin; a dui on a man who’d called in a motorcycle accident that he had passed on the way home from a bar. While Kim was hard-edged, Fenway assumed she had to be in order to survive, especially when she had to deal with abrasive men like Barry Klein on the county board of supervisors—and now in the mayor’s office.

  Fenway glanced at the clock. It was a quarter after five, but she was sure Kim would still be in her office. Sure enough, the phone was picked up on the first ring.

  “ada Kim.”

  “Jennifer, hi. It’s Coroner Stevenson.”

  “Oh, hi, Fenway. Sorry to hear about your dad.”

  She had practically forgotten, and the reminder sent a bolt of electricity up Fenway’s spine. “Oh—right. Thanks. Yeah, it’s tough on everyone.”

  “I hope you know I don’t have any information on his case. The Bellingham police are being tight-lipped about it. Of course, I couldn’t tell you even if I knew, but I don’t know anything.”

  “That’s not why I’m calling.” Fenway leaned forward on her desk and closed her eyes. She’d have to be mindful of her tactics. “You had a conversation this afternoon with our forensic technologist.”

  “Your what?”

  “Piper Patten. I don’t know what her real title is, but that’s what she does for us—figure out who’s accessed what, figure out where the hackers have been, figure out where people have tried to hide money.”

  “Oh, yes, Miss Patten.” Kim’s voice lost all friendliness in its tone. “She’s in trouble.”

  “I don’t see why. You haven’t even taken my statement. The business owner hasn’t even pressed charges—she was grateful that Piper was trying to preserve evidence.” Fenway might have been stretching the truth, but Marisol Velásquez would back her up. Probably. Mrs. Velásquez would be grateful that Piper had tried to prevent the ledger from being stolen.